


Close-Up

by IzzyLightwood



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Bi Dan, M/M, New York City, actor phil, boss ass bitch - Freeform, dan interacting with darcy, fashion stylist dan, in the closet, my dreams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-22
Updated: 2017-02-22
Packaged: 2018-09-26 07:59:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9874724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IzzyLightwood/pseuds/IzzyLightwood
Summary: Phil Lester, an aspiring actor in the UK. Dan Howell, an aspiring fashion stylist in the States. He may be the answer Phil's been looking for. That is, if they could get over their slight differences in lifestyle.





	1. Ready Player One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dead-ass designed a website from Dan's POV for this fic, guys. No lie. I spent a WHILE on it so feel free to check it out! It's at this address: http://teamfreewill82.wixsite.com/close-up <3 It follows the story exactly and makes it feel more real :)

     Dan liked his life. He was closer than the majority of students in his graduating class of 20– had been to achieving their dreams, his ambitions out-scaled theirs by double. And he had nothing against the desk at which he currently sat, as a stylist and (aspiring) designer at _Virgine_. He’d been lucky enough to jump on the magazine at very near its open, when they’d been in desperate need of fresh and young faces. While Dan hated talking himself up, he had to at least admit that he himself had the youth and drive _Virgine_ ’s creators had been searching for way back when. At the time, New York City had been just another piece of the world Dan had yet to explore, and he would be damned if he let the opportunity to get out of bloody England slip between his calloused fingers.

     After three years and a Bachelor’s level degree from the School of Art in Manchester (not to mention graduating early and growing up with a pen in hand), Dan could say with some confidence that his blisters were now more few and far between than they had previously been.

     “You’re a fucking slave,” Adam told Dan. Dan didn’t pay this much mind, considering Adam was just sitting at his tiny desk with a dark-leaded pencil twiggling uselessly in his fingers.

     “If I enjoy what I’m doing, am I really a slave?” Dan enquired, not once lifting his eyes from the notebook in front of him. It was bound in black leather, just the faintest of gold shimmer painted along the surface. It had been a gift from his father before he’d left for the city, but the dull black had made Dan feel like an attorney, so he’d decked the notebook out on his own. Now it was filled almost completely with sketches, quotes, and thought bubbles. (And a penis or two, because Adam’s a juvenile prick.)

     “Going deep with Adam and Dan,” Louise said, the grin on her face far from innocent. Dan looked at her, then, but only to roll his eyes in an exasperated way.

     “Feel free, both of you, to head out for the day,” he told them.

     “It’s barely eleven in the morning!” Louise protested with a little laugh. Like Dan, she was from the UK and the familiarity of her accent was as comforting as it was irritating. Dan had wanted to get away from those people back home—i.e., _this_ , New York, was his home now. If he didn’t love Louise and her daughter, Darcy, so damn much, he’d probably quit her.

     Dan allowed the smallest of smiles, continuing his work, just as Jonathan poked out his head from the main office to say, “Francesca needs you.” Dan’s head swiveled to look at Louise, who was open mouthed, then to Adam.

     “Booty call.”

     “And you ruined it,” Dan replied, shoving to his feet and hurrying past Adam’s desk to Francesca’s office. When he entered, Jonathan went to stand against the wall, his usual place apart from the desk shoved into the room’s back corner. It was a shame Jonathan was so business-oriented; with his curling blond hair and stormy grey eyes, he could be one of the models Dan styled for.

     “Yes?” Dan said, to Francesca.

     “Big news,” she said, in her heavy French accent. One would think that after living in the States for so long Francesca would have lost some of it, but then again, people said the same about Dan, or Louise.

     Dan didn’t want to jinx what he so desperately wished to be Francesca’s next words: Daniel James Howell, you have the cover of our next issue.

     Francesca looked to Dan with her big eyes, dyed and frizzy red curls bound in a hair-tie. Her entire personality, from her bright purple blazer to her claw-like nails, was extreme to say the least. “ _Virgine_ has picked up a client from the UK,” she informed Dan, “and he’s requested you as his stylist.”

     “Seriously?” Dan said. “I’ve got—Is he someone I would know?” A million names went tumbling across his memory bank, but Francesca was shaking her head.

     “I’ve no idea. He’s an actor, not too well known. _En fait_ , his first movie has yet to premiere…” She revealed from behind her desk a disc. “And I’ve got it here, just for you.” Dan recognized the title, _Ready Player One_. It was some sci-fi thriller with another heterosexual romance. The few advertisements he’d caught around the city hadn’t made him too thrilled to see the film, and he hadn’t read the book either. He was at a loss.

     “Francesca,” he tried, “I’m… As amazing as this is, you haven’t told me… who it actually is?”

     “Oh! _Bien s_ _û_ _r_ , _oui_. His name is Philip Lester, England born and bred.”

     Dan just barely kept himself from cringing. A British guy. What if this film was some rando-indie-alternative art project, one that would tank and inevitably destroy Dan through association?

     “Are you sure I’m the right man for the job?” he asked Francesca. “I’m sure Adam would die—”

     “Daniel,” his boss cut in. She always said his full name, and always as if it were _Danielle_. He was sure she did it on purpose. “The spot is yours. Phil has gone through two stylists already, and when he heard we had a boy from England?” Francesca waved a hand, dismissive. “ _D_ _é_ _cid_ _é_.” It was immensely clear that anything Dan had to say in protest would be disregarded.

     He leaned back in his chair, accepting his fate as she handed him the film. He could do this. And he would do it brilliantly, so that even if the film were a bust, Phil Lester would never drag him down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anything you recognize I can safely say is not something I own, full disclaimer on it all except my own ideas and inspiration. This fic is based off the movie Front Cover, a movie you should check out on Netflix if you feel so inclined. :)


	2. Map of the Problematique

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dan's outfit for Tuesday, meeting Phil: https://pbs.twimg.com/media/CQbV1sSUkAAr52Q.png because I love this shirt <3

     Dan had been told that Phil was in desperate need of a makeover, and that Dan was also his last hope. He ignored the easy opportunity to confuse Francesca with his impressive mind palace chock full of _Star Wars_ trivia and instead simply took into his possession the file she had on Phil. Age 29, as of this past January 30 th, and what few photos had been inside the folder had been enough to further convince Dan of Phil’s… failures regarding fashion. He dressed like a sporty clown, incessantly Straight™, so much so it made Dan’s head ache.

     He spent the remainder of that Monday drawing, and slept only a couple hours that night in the same endeavor. He’d played Phil’s movie as he worked in the hope that it would grant him inspiration, but he hadn’t paid it much attention, it had been more like background noise; though he’d been watching it at Louise’s place, and she had assured him that it was in fact amazing.

     Tuesday was spent in finalizing the designs, which were rough; but Dan hadn’t had very much time to prepare anything with actual fabric. All he could do was hope that Phil wouldn’t mind too much, and remind Dan why he liked to believe in giving the benefit of the doubt even to strangers.

     The request had been that Dan go to Phil’s rented loft for the first meeting at three in the afternoon. Dan wasn’t too keen on being trapped in an enclosed space with an Actor™ but knew he didn’t have much of a choice. So he gathered his few designs, all laid out on a small poster-board for easy presentation, into a portfolio and left for Phil’s.

     He approached the loft’s door, and could hear laughter from its other side. He quickly adjusted his fringe, a nervous habit, and raised the same tentative hand to knock. Before he could, it was pulled open by—well, not Phil, but a girl with butchered blond hair and penetrating green eyes.

     Dan’s hand lifted again, in a wave that he hoped came through as friendly. “Hi. My name is—”

     “Dan,” the girl said, her tone flat. Along with the fact that she was kind of scary, Dan noted her Irish accent. It didn’t make her any less intense. She turned around and walked back inside, calling out, “Hey, Jonas. You owe me ten pounds. He looks just like I said he would.” Dan, walking behind her, chanced a quick glance at his ensemble. A red button-down spattered with tiny flowers, black skinny jeans. His hair was even straightened today, just for this event, not left in its usual hobbit-esque style. He looked good, to tell the truth, and not nearly as good as he knew he _could_ look. What did this girl even mean?

     Dan followed her into the living room; on the sofa was sat another girl and two boys (men). Dan knew before he’d stood up which one was Phil: black fringe, blacker than natural, and blue eyes Dan thought had to be fake as well. He was aggressively good looking, beautiful even, and the shitty photos hadn’t done Phil justice in the least. Far too pretty for _him_ , Dan had the discomfort of thinking.

     Phil offered him a hand, of which Dan accepted, and then gestured to his friends. “Those two there are Jonas, and his girlfriend Amanda. The overwhelmingly sweet girl who let you in would be Devin.” Devin rolled her eyes Phil’s way before dropping into the leather armchair furthest from Dan.

     “So, it’s fairly rushed, but I think I’ve managed to pull together some designs for the photo-shoot,” Dan told Phil, carefully extracting the work from his portfolio to set onto the coffee table.

     As soon as he had, Phil’s nontourage grabbed up the posters like the hyenas from _The Lion King_. Dan just barely restrained his muscles from tensing. He’d spent hours on these designs, and they were treating them like they were pages torn from an adult coloring book.

     “Phil, you couldn’t wear any of these,” Amanda said softly, piquing Devin’s interest. She stood to see the images, then scoffed.

     “What the fuck?”

     “Dev’,” Phil said immediately. But Dan was thinking much the same as Devin. Who were these people to have their say in what Phil _could_ or _couldn’t_ wear?

     Devin raised her eyebrows at him, pulling a face. “What?” she demanded. “Can you imagine yourself in any of these clothes?”

     “They don’t seem like you,” Amanda added.

     Jonas looked at the drawings, but didn’t comment as Phil rifled through them. His eyes were alert, attentive to everything going on. They were expressive to the point Dan was sure Phil couldn’t tell a lie if his life depended on it. Meanwhile, Dan’s life depended on these sketches, and Phil was way too silent as he observed them.

     “What do you think?” Dan asked him, anxious to hear Phil’s opinion and not that of his posse.

     Phil got back to his feet and motioned for Dan to follow, which he did, all the way back into the kitchen. Phil leaned against the counter. His cupboards were open, as well as a couple drawers. Dan fought the urge to close them, his awkwardly large hands glued to his sides. Everything about him was just so giant and then there was this guy, so slight and statue-like. It was a very odd contrast.

     “They’re right,” said Phil simply.

     “Who’s right?”

     “Devin and Amanda. The designs you’ve done aren’t me.”

     “But I—… I can’t disagree because I can’t say I know you all that well,” Dan had to admit, “but with a couple changes—”

     “Dan,” Phil said, “I know who I am, and I’m not the guy you’ve drawn in these notes. I’m trying to become an actor. I want to be onscreen. Doing that will change me in ways I can’t yet be sure of, but I don’t want to change my style. Not if I can help it.” Phil looked away, out the window at the cityscape. “I want to preserve me as I am… as much as I can.”

     Dan watched him, studying the profile of his solemn face. He wondered if Phil ever smiled outside of acting. “Okay. I can work something out.”

***

     Dan was able to reconstruct until six in the evening, by which point Francesca informed him that Phil would arrive on Thursday to see what Dan had in store for the shoot. By the way, the photo-shoot is on Friday, she added on with a tone that suggested this fact didn’t make any difference to Dan’s health or lucidity. He had a day to complete his final design, and needless to say Dan wanted to vomit. Considering Phil hadn’t exactly fallen in love with his first attempts, and his friends had basically shat on them, Dan wasn’t exactly Feeling It.

     But, he knew he had to. If he ever wanted to go anywhere in this field, he had to work with difficult people. And besides, Phil was not the worst person to work with, right? He wasn’t a monster.

     So Dan worked, shopping all night for the fabrics he required and then going back to his apartment to stitch them up into something special. He shopped some more on Wednesday, working all through the day with an involuntary 27-minute nap around one a.m. with coffee beans and Maltesers mixed in a pretty container for a wake-up snack.

     A burned-out candle and an empty bowl were left in the morning when Dan yanked on his outfit (a button down with moths on it, satirically jabbing at his fear of and distaste for the creature) and brushed out his hair. He left it natural, as his last haircut had afforded him shaved sides and slightly-less-insanely curled locks.

     He was just adjusting the collar of the blazer when Phil walked into the office with his crew. Dan turned to face them with a clap of his hands and a ready smile on his face.

     “Good morning!” he greeted them all.

     “This it?” Devin asked, jutting her chin towards the design on the mannequin. Dan’s hands clenched together, and he hoped that his jaw didn’t do the same.

     “Yes, this is it.” He looked to Phil. “You can try it on if you’d like. I have all your measurements, but if something doesn’t feel right…”

     Phil stared at the design. “Why… What’s with the stripes, and the dots?”

     Dan glanced at his work. He liked it. _He_ would wear it. What could possibly be wrong with it? Phil was always wearing some weird thing or another in the photos Dan had seen; this shouldn’t be that obscure.

     “Erm,” Dan cleared his throat in the slightest, “well I’ve been looking at the shoots you’ve done in the past and thought you would want to keep the same sort of thing going, if not better th—”

     “We came to you for _fresh_ ideas,” Devin snipped.

     “Don’t you think the navy stripes make him look too pale, or thin?” Amanda asked Dan.

     Dan looked between Phil and the mannequin, shaking his head. Why would he have made something to purposely not make Phil look his best? “I designed it specifically to complement Phil’s naturally light complexion and slim figure. His cheekbones will be accentuated, as well as the slenderness of his hands. His legs will appear longer than they already are—” Dan stopped. He was rambling. He knew what he was talking about, fully, but these people didn’t and probably thought he looked like an idiot. After 15 years of judgement, Dan was used to that.

     Phil had been staring at Dan, and now Dan could see that he was red in the face and neck. He didn’t look back at the outfit (the one that Dan had managed to create in a single fucking night with his two hands) as he said, “It doesn’t work.” And before Dan could say another word, Phil and his group had left.


	3. Honey, This Mirror Isn't Big Enough for the Two of Us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dan's outfit on Thursday, when Phil comes in to see the design and his outfit on Friday can be found on the website at http://teamfreewill82.wixsite.com/close-up

     “What the fuck did you do?”

     Dan could think of better greetings to receive over the phone, or in general, but because it was Francesca, he let it slide.

     “I can’t say I completely understand what you mean,” he told her. He was sat on his sofa watching reruns of _Chopped_ , wishing that he could find some sort of baking show instead. (He’d left his disc copies of _The Great British Bake Off_ back in England. What a mistake.)

     “You, Daniel, have lost our client!”

     “What?” Dan immedatiely straightened up, eyes wide. “What do you mean?”

     “Phil wants to drop us, that’s _what_!” Francesca barked. “Whatever you’ve done, you had better fix it.” With that, Dan heard a dial tone. He dropped the phone out of his hand and scrubbed the latter against his face. It isn’t as though he’d been the unreasonable one! And the last thing he could’ve expected was for Phil to leave _Virgine_ a day after they’d met!

     It was probably that witch Devin’s doing.

     Whatever it had been, Francesca was right: he needed to fix it. So he dialled up the number and waited.

     “Hello?”

     “Hey, Phil? It’s Dan. Dan Howell, your stylist.”

     “Former stylist.”

     Dan almost laughed. Was this a joke? Some really bad _Project Runway_ spin-off? He had no time for drama. “Look, I don’t know what happened, and honestly, I don’t care. You’ve had two stylists before me, and—”

     “We don’t work,” Phil told Dan snappishly, an echo of what he had said earlier that day.

     “Going to need to be more specific there, mate; I have no idea what you mean. We just met, for Christ’s sake; and I’m here to _help_ you.”

     “We don’t work,” Phil repeated. “You’re—” He stopped, and Dan didn’t want to think about what he was sure Phil had been about to say to him.

     He steeled himself, as he always did, and said anyway, “Go ahead. I’m listening.”

     “You’re too gay, Dan!” Phil took a big breath in, as though surprised he’d managed to get that out, or like _he_ was the one under so much strain in this situation.

     Dan tried to sound light-hearted and unaffected when he said, “Well if it helps at all, I’m actually bi.”

     “You’re just too open with… everything,” Phil added, like Dan hadn’t spoken.

     “And you aren’t okay with my being okay with myself?” Dan clarified.

     Phil released a frustrated breath. “When you say it like that it’s—Look, I just…”

     “You won’t be surprised to hear that you, Phil Lester, aren’t the first client I’ve ever dealt with who had an issue with the way I live. You won’t be the last, and I reckon I can’t change your mind or let alone theirs, but I know how to do my job well.” Phil was silent. “So if you’re willing to work with me here, just wear my design for this single photo-shoot…”

     “I can see I’ve run out of options,” Phil said, but in more of a sheepish than bitter way.

     “I suppose you have,” Dan agreed. “But trust me. It will be fine.” They decided on a time to meet the next day before the shoot, and Dan hung up with a heavy feeling in his midsection.

     Like he’d told Phil, assumptions and biphobia weren’t anything new in his life, but for a young actor in 2016, Dan had sort of wanted to hope that Phil would stand apart from the rest as a more open-minded individual.

     Just one job. A few more days. One step closer to his big break. Dan breathed in, eyes closed as he leaned against the sofa’s cushion. One step closer.

***

     Dan was relieved when Phil emerged from the dressing area in his design. It was honestly a surprise, as Dan hadn’t up until this point really known what to expect when it came to Phil and wasn’t at all sure if he would actually keep his word from the night before. But he did, and Dan had been right: the blazer and polka-dotted under-shirt went beautifully with Phil’s skintone, and clashed perfectly with his jet-black hair as well. Dan hadn’t graduated from school for no reason—he knew his shit.

     Another tally on Dan’s chart was that outside ‘guests’ aren’t allowed inside the building for either a shoot’s preparation or for the shoot itself, so Phil’s friends weren’t invited that sunny, fantastic Friday. Dan was only slightly exaggerating when he said that he was euphoric.

     Downside: his nerves were jambled all over the place. But that wasn’t too out of the ordinary, so he let it alone. Better to just keep looking forward and get it done than to worry worry worry over nothing.

     Phil called out Dan’s name from his place in the makeup chair, and Dan took a deep breath before putting on a good face and going to him.

     “I’ve an interview set up during this photo-shoot; have they been let inside?” Phil asked. Dan lowkey had to question why Phil was wearing makeup in the first place. Objectively, his skin was flawless and basically porcelain and did not need any help. Quite unfair, actually.

     “Erm, Phil, no one except stylists and other _Virgine_ employees are let in during a shoot,” Dan said. “Especially not the press.”

     “But I already told them to meet me here!” Phil protested. Louise, having volunteered as Phil’s makeup artist for the day (moral support for Dan and what not), stood beside Phil with a brush in hand, waiting for his mouth to close. She had a job to do, as did Dan, and Phil of course had to make it complicated. “What am I supposed to do, have them leave?”

     “Well—” Dan was fairly certain that if he said yes, Phil would riot. So he forced the muscles of his face to yank themselves into a smile. “I can work something out. Just—you stay here and finish getting sorted.” He sent a look Louise’s way before heading up to the roof, where the photos would be taken.

     When he spotted the photographer, Dan self-consciously adjusted his shirt with a quick pat to his hair as well for good luck. “Hey, Gus,” he said to Mr. LaMar, “do you have a second?”

     “What, what do you want?” Mr. LaMar responded impatiently. He had a coffee in one hand and his camera set in the other, ready to go… if only Phil were ready too. Dan internally cringed.

     “Phil has an interview—”

     Mr. LaMar rolled his eyes so far back Dan was sure they were ogling into his head. He moaned, just to top that off and further showcase his displeasure at Dan’s (Phil’s) request (order). “No, no, no; how many times has this happened? I’m not here so your client can do an interview while I’m trying to get a good shot,” he informed Dan. “He can take it somewhere else—once we’ve finished. Got it?”

     “Yes. Of course.” Dan took a step to go back to Phil, but saw that he was already in the doorway with a frown on his lips. Dan could see that had Phil heard what Mr. LaMar had said, and that Jonathan was whispering, “Gus’s like that. It isn’t just you. I’ll go take care of the press.”

     What a brilliant start.

     “Is he coming or what?” Gus demanded, not looking Phil’s way. Dan motioned for Phil to make his presence known in the room, and when Gus saw him he lifted his hands into the air. “Halle-freaking-lujah. Let’s go.”

     The photos were meant to be somewhat candid, but it was evident that Phil wasn’t used to that. Stood there in Dan’s freshly-stitched clothes, he looked uncomfortable and out of place. Dan almost felt bad for him.

     “What’s he doing?” Gus said. No one in the room knew whether or not he wished for a response, but since the answer was usually no, they remained silent. “Dan!” Dan hurried forward, thankful he didn’t trip at the sound of Gus LaMar shouting his name. He hadn’t thought Gus LaMar even _knew_ his name. “Who is this kid? Any way you can fix him, make him look less yearbook?”

     “He hasn’t done this sort of thing in a while,” Dan made up quickly, hoping to pacify Gus (if such a thing were at all possible). “He just needs to warm up.” He glanced Phil’s way. His hair was combed to perfection, blazer completely unruffled, shoes shined, and yet Phil looked as though he were dying. “I think it’s all the people.”

     “Huh?”

     “The people, everyone in this room. He needs space.”

     “Then maybe he should’ve been an astronaut.” Despite his sarcasm, Gus yelled out, “Everyone out. _Now_.” And they all disappeared, leaving Gus and Dan (plus a couple lighting guys) to do their work. “Why’m I always stuck with the divas?” Gus muttered.

     Dan sent two thumbs-up Phil’s way, and in return he received the smallest of smiles.

***

     The photo-shoot came to its close with no catastrophes, Dan praised the gods, and though Phil wasn’t keen on keeping his design on any longer than necessary Dan felt an unholy amount of relief that it was over, and that he and Phil had finally been able to work together to accomplish this task.

     Sure, Phil was most likely still a biphobic ass of an actor—because how could just a day knowing Dan change his opinions?—but that didn’t stop Dan from wanting to hug him after the shoot.

     Phil walked out of the dressing room in his regular day clothes, and Dan cringed at his outfit, not for the first time. Phil was dressed in a Just Do It™ shirt with fade-washed jeans and sneakers. It didn’t suit him in the least.

     “You know,” Dan began, “I really am sorry that you didn’t like what I designed for you…”

     “It’s okay, Dan,” Phil assured him.

     “ _But_ ,” Dan continued pointedly, “I also can’t say it’s my fault that I couldn’t get a read on your style. I don’t mean any offense by this, but, Phil: you dress like your mum picked your clothes.”

     Phil looked at himself. “Huh?”

     “Like she chose things she knows other guys wear—by which I mean, of course, 12 year-old boys—and actually has no clue what you like.” Dan stopped. He had wanted to be honest. Hopefully Phil wouldn’t quit (again) because of that.

     Though, Dan had been honest with Phil about a lot of things and that hadn’t turned out very well either.

     Maybe this wasn’t the best idea.

     But Phil didn’t look angry. In fact, he looked a little embarrassed. Dan raised his eyebrows, taking a half-step forward.

     “Uh, Phil?” he said. “Does your mum _actually_ decide what you wear?”

     “Not exactly.” Phil rubbed the back of his neck. “My girlfriend does.” For a moment, Dan was surpised; he hadn’t even known that Phil was involved with anyone. But then he wondered why he should be surprised when for one, he and Phil were all but strangers, and two, Phil wasn’t the most hideous man around. His being single would probably have shocked Dan more, if he’d given the subject any real thought. Which he hadn’t. Obviously.

     “Your _girlfriend_?”

     “Yeah! Hazel. She just really likes it…” Phil dropped his head, realising how weird this seemed once spoken aloud.

     “Okay,” Dan said slowly. “So, as much as I know you’ll hate the sound of this: Phil, we’re going shopping.”

 


	4. Flashing Lights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extras on the website!

     “What about this?”

     Phil held up a shirt with an ice cream cone on it, his eyes bright. Dan couldn’t help but laugh. Allowing Phil to pick his own clothes was something to witness, truly. So far, he’d chosen graphic t-shirts ft. Sonic the Hedgehog, a syrup-drenched pancake stack, and one covered in different logos and symbols; in the clearance section, Dan had found a jumper with foxes all over it; Phil had scouted a long-sleeve with black hearts as the pattern. Everything he took of the rack screamed P H I L  L E S T E R so specifically that Dan wondered if they were made just for him. The way Phil’s face lit up when he saw the next Cool Thing seemed to suggest that they were.

     “It’s great,” Dan told him, nodding. He had to smile at Phil’s excitement. He’d been so stubborn when they first met, but getting to know him in a neutral setting had proved to Dan that Phil wasn’t the jerk he’d initially thought him to be. “Erm, can I ask you something?”

     “Sure.”

     “Why didn’t your girlfriend—Hazel… come to the States with you?”

     Phil’s hands slowed, slipping through several shirts as though he weren’t focused on them anymore. “You know how it is,” he said. Dan didn’t know how it is in the least, not to mention why Phil was acting so weird about it. Was it just Dan that thought a S.O. is travel material? “I couldn’t just… have her come with me to America, leave home.” Yeah, actually, it’s probably just Dan.

     He looked at Phil, his eyebrows drawn together in question. “But your friends did. Jason… and…”

     “Jonas.” Phil smiled a little. “Amanda and Devin. Yeah. Hazel’s got things to do in England, they didn’t. Seemed like an easy enough decision to make who was coming with me.”

     Dan nodded, his eyes on the shirts. “Do you miss her?”

     “Why’re you asking so many questions?” Phil asked. His voice wasn’t as strong as he’d hoped, and Dan could tell.

     “I’m a nosy person,” he replied in a light tone. He took a red-collared shirt off of the rack, it had white stars sprinkled on a blue background. “How’s this? American enough?”

     Phil began to grin again. “Most definitely. Bag it.”

***

     Phil insisted on immedatiely donning the new galaxy jacket he had spotted in the shop. Dan had to admit that Phil had a crazy sense of style, but in an oddly good way. Why Hazel hadn’t thought to let him choose his own wardrobe was beyond Dan. Or maybe she had tried it once but hadn’t been a fan of what Phil chose to wear.

     In the cab, Phil graciously commanded that Dan be dropped first. He began to speak as the driver pulled off the curb.

     “Thanks, by the way,” he said. “You didn’t have to do this.”

     Dan looked over at him in some surprise. “Are you kidding? Yes, I did. Phil, you told me that you want to keep your style in tact as much as possible, and yet somehow the style you’ve been sporting for some undetermined amount of time hasn’t even been your own.” Phil’s eyes were on his lap. “I definitely needed to do this.”

     “Well, it was a fun day,” Phil said.

     “It was,” Dan nodded. “Are you surprised?”

     “About what?”

     Dan rolled his eyes, mostly in good nature. “That you could have a good time with me, despite my overwhelming aura of gayness?”

     Phil winced. “Dan…”

     “No, no, it’s alright.” Not really. “At least you don’t throw rocks at me.”

     “Who on earth would do that?” Phil asked, bewildered.

     “You’d be surprised,” Dan said in a mutter toward the window. He was uneasy at how quickly he’d almost shared an unhappy piece of his past with this person whom he didn’t even know all that well. Dan was again hit with the question of how one gets to another person without sharing these details, and if he should just share _this_ specific detail with Phil for the sake of figuring that out. But wasn’t there anything else he could say right now in place of That? Something less awful?

     “Dan, it’s 2016. I can’t possibly imagine anybody actually getting hit with stones in today’s world.”

     “Well, it happened. In 2005.”

     Guess not.

     “What?”

     Dan took a breath. He was actually doing this, right here, in a cab? “I got stoned in my hometown for wearing skinny jeans. Black skinny jeans, with my terrible wanna-be-emo haircut and try-hard MySpace page. It happened, it was real, and right outside a shop.” Dan shook his head, becoming frustrated. “You say that you aren’t comfortable with my being bi, but no one ever was when I was growing up. My parents thought I wanted attention, the kids at school thought I was an alien, and my brother… acted like he wasn’t my brother.”

     Phil had no idea what to say. Dan laughed, but it was more bitter than amused. “And you ask if that kind of stuff happens today. Of course it does. I had no friends until I was 18, until I went to university and found people like me, who could relate to all my shit. Now I’m here, and I have this great job… and I don’t even know if I’ll move forward. Back where I started.”

     “Dan…” Phil tried to think of what he could possibly say to everything Dan had just unfolded in his lap. “I… I didn’t know. Of course I—how could I’ve known? You didn’t deserve that. You don’t _now_ , and certainly not when you were just a kid.”

     Dan blinked, his eyes glued to the glass of the window. He was glad he didn’t cry easily, and that he had pushed past all that shit when he left home. “I’m sorry,” Phil said to him, his voice cutting through Dan’s forming headache. He forced himself to look at Phil. Why he had just non-consensually emptied his soul on him was a question for another day.

     “It’s okay. But I guess…” He shrugged. “Now you know why I came to New York.”

     “But you said your job is the same as ever,” Phil said. “Why don’t you look for something else?”

     “I’ve only ever worked at _Virgine_ ,” Dan said. “If I leave, where would I even go?”

     “You can come back to England.”

     Dan had to look away from Phil’s face at that second. It was so open, brighter than the moon in the sky, and Dan couldn’t handle it. “Yeah, right,” he choked out a laugh, “as if I could.” Maybe it would be better if Phil were an asshole.

     “Come on, you could,” Phil insisted. “We need stylists back there, too, you know. Look at it this way: here, you’re like a—a cat. But in the UK you could be a… a…”

     “A lion?” Dan suggested, sarcastic.

     “Yes!” Phil smiled widely, in his childish way. “You could be a lion.”

     “Fine, then. If I’m a lion you’re a… llama.”

     “Works for me.”

***

     Note to self: don’t invite Phil inside after shopping with him all day. Inevitably, this will lead to alcohol, uploading weird autographs online, and an impromptu fashion show. Phil stumbled into a cab around midnight with all of his bags, despite Dan’s insistance that he just sleep at Dan’s. While he thanked Dan for his hospitality, Phil had to disagree, certain he’d be fine on his own.

     Dan waited until Phil’s cab was out of sight before trudging back up to his apartment to pass out, lucky he made it to the bed. He was woken a little past six by Francesca ringing Dan’s cell to inform him that he was needed at the office at eight for a conference. Why he was needed on a Saturday was beyond Dan, but he was able to drag himself into the shower and look somewhat fresh.

     He was surprised but not disappointed to see Phil stood outside the magazine’s building; Dan took note that he was wearing his just-bought clothes, of which included a nice plaid button-down that went beautifully with the black skinny jeans he’d gotten as well. (Phil had also bought white Vans, a longtime dream of his now come true.)

     “Fancy seeing you here,” Dan called, walking over with a wave.

     Phil pulled a face. “And at this time in the morning. I’m lucky I have coffee at the loft.”

     “I’m just surprised I made it out of my apartment.”

     “So a meeting,” Phil said. “What do you reckon it’s about?”

     Dan shrugged. “Couldn’t tell you. Maybe it’s to tell us that your photos came out horribly.”

     “Not helping, Danny.”

     “Quiet you,” Dan ordered, opening _Virgine_ ’s building’s main door for Phil. “Let’s just see what it’s all about, yeah?”

***

Note to self: don’t agree to go anywhere unless you know why the hell you’re going.

     The shoot ended up being a Phil and Dan thing, meaning they were hustled out of their clothes into “better” ones to be photographed for an article speicifically centered around their “blossoming partnership.”

     Dan of course wasn’t in favor of this idea. Francesca put it this way: “It’s press for you, Daniel, it’s press for _Virgine_ , and it’s press for Phil. Do it, or we’re all fucked.”

     So he did it.

     And he had to admit, it didn’t suck. It was quite fun—having a closer bond (Relationship? Affiliation? Friendship?) with Phil than what they’d had even just the afternoon before didn’t hurt at all, and the things they were made to do in the pictures were especially funny. The team working that day praised them for their dynamic, and the boys would look at each other while stifling laughter at the insanity of it all.

     If anyone would have told Dan that he would be posing with a guy he had met on Wednesday and hadn’t much liked… Okay well, he would probably only roll his eyes and ask why, but you get it. This wasn’t Dan’s normal. _Normal_ had never even been in his vocabulary anyway. When he mentioned this to Phil, Phil replied, “Being normal is boring. It’s a good thing to be strange. Normalness… leads to sadness.” He laughed afterward, as though he were making a little joke, but Dan, genuinely taken aback, stared at Phil for a second after he had already turned away.

     It was like the Phil of the past week didn’t even exist anymore, and Dan couldn’t say that he was all that upset about it. He much preferred this Phil: laughing and grinning like an idiot, not so stone-faced, tripping over his immaculately white Vans.

     After the shoot, Phil and Dan continued their usual chatter at an early dinner at the Macaron Café, and over coffee and sandwiches fell across the topic of Dan’s _Kill Bill_ collection, and how it just so happened that that series was one of Phil’s Ultimate Faves. Dan, being the polite guy that he was, obligatorily invited Phil back to his apartment (for the second time even though last night it had led to a hangover) to watch them all.

     “I don’t know why,” Phil said, when they were halfway through the second, “but I feel like these are under-appreciated.”

     “No, you’re definitely right,” Dan said. “I don’t hear as much talk about _Kill Bill_ as I do about… Dunno, maybe _Star Trek_.”

     Phil shook his head. “Which I’ve never even been able to get into, by the way.”

     “Me neither. _Star Wars_ is so much better. Or _Harry Potter_.”

     Phil made a sound of immense agreement. There was a bowl of buttersotch popcorn set on the sofa cushion in between them, rapidly emptying as it were, and all of the lights in Dan’s apartment were off. The only source came from the television screen, illuminating the room and their faces in a colorful glow.

     Dan hazarded a glance Phil’s way. He was staring at the TV and seemed without a care, completely enrapt in the movie. Dan couldn’t help but be reminded of earlier that day, how taking all those pictures had seemed so strange and at the same time perfectly sensible. Spilling his childhood bullshit. This was like that. How was Phil Lester sat on Dan’s couch at past 11 watching a film? Like they’d been friends for years and this was their routine? Just friends, as well, because if it were anything more in some other wild universe they wouldn’t have a bowl between them.

     Despite what Dan had thought to be quick, Phil caught his eye anyway and the slight turn-up of his lips made Dan want to dive out the window behind them.

     “Focus,” Phil told him. “Uma Thurman deserves undivided attention.”

     Dan nodded and, forcing a laugh from his throat, returned his distracted gaze to the screen.

 


	5. Play That One Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Their outfits for today can be found on the website, if you haven't seen the post already! :)

     Dan awoke to the sound of rapping at his door. His phone was in his hand; he must have fallen asleep with it there after updating his and Phil’s website. He yawned and checked the time. It was nearly 10 in the morning.

     Phil’s left leg was draped over and under Dan’s thighs, as he’d fallen asleep on his stomach and Dan had drifted off sitting up against the back of the sofa. Phil was dreaming contentedly, and Dan’s eyes were torn from his sleeping form when another round of knocks came at the door.

     _Sunday the 21 nd. 10 a.m._

     Dan jumped to his feet, dropping Phil to the floor and and hopping into hyper-active. Dan had forgotten: his parents were in the States on holiday and had told him weeks before today that they were coming to visit. His grandma had flown out as well, and they were all planning to go out for “brunch” with Dan. He hadn’t thought about their coming basically since they’d mentioned it to him, and now here we was with a groggy actor on his floor and a dump of an apartment.

     “What’s going on?” Phil asked, pushing to his feet in confusion.

     “My parents are outside the door,” Dan said without stopping. He grabbed the wine glasses and the empty popcorn bowl and dumped them into the sink, then really took notice of Phil. His hair was a mess, and his shirt was ruffled from sleep. Dan’s stomach decided reach up to eat his heart in that moment, and he knew he had to stop this, but for now—

     “Get in my room,” he told Phil.

     “What?”

     “My parents can’t see you here—Just go, okay?” He pushed Phil into the bedroom, none too gently, and closed the door on his bewilderment, then shoved a tablet of gum into his mouth before going to let his parents inside. He took a deep breath in, and opened the door.

     “Dan!” his mother said, as soon as he did.

     “Mum!” Dan replied ecstatically, accepting the hug she offered. He shook hands with his father as his mum went on, “How are you?” Her voice slowed as she took in Dan’s apartment. It was definitely not at its best. Neither was he for that matter. He probably looked a right mess. His hair was more than likely worse than its usual, and his face had to be red from seeing Phil’s Unintentionally Quiffed Hair and What Not.

     “I’m great! How are you, Mum?”

     “Wonderful.” She turned to Dan, putting on a smile. “Grandma is so excited to see you; she’s been—” She paused at the sound of a sneeze. Dan wanted to die. “Did someone just…” She seemed to come to the conclusion that Dan had a Guest, and took a step backward. “Maybe we should go, meet you at the restaurant.”

     “No! I mean, I—” Dan thought that was a great plan, but he had no idea how to actually get them out of there without causing any more of a spectacle. Phil had already blown everything by sneezing!

     “Dan,” his dad said, “what’s going on?”

     “Well, I—” Dan looked between his parents, aware that he was out of options. Besides telling them that he had a sick ghost in the apartment, he was stuck. Dan scrubbed a hand through his hair and sighed, opening his bedroom door to pull Phil out into the main room. (Fortunately, Phil too had found Dan’s stash of gum.)

     “This is Phil,” Dan said. “Phil… these are my parents.”

     Phil extended a hand to Mrs. Howell, and then Mr. Howell, his lips pulled into a smile that was on the verge of looking a bit scared. “Hi. I’m Phil,” he said unnecessarily.

     “You’re from the UK?” Dan’s mum observed, her eyes widening. She knew Dan’s dislike of his old home.

     “I’m from the north of England, yeah.”

     “Where?”

     “Rawtenstall.”

     “He’s an actor,” Dan tacked on in a cringe-worthy attempt to participate in their small-talk. That was the last possible thing in this moment when considering that his parents currently believed Phil to be his sex buddy. Jesus. Maybe this was more of an interrogation than a pleasant chat.

     “Oh, yeah?” Mr. Howell said. “What’ve you been in?”

     “My first official film’s yet to premiere,” said Phil, hands shoved in the pockets of his skinny jeans. “Dan’s my stylist.”

     “I am,” Dan confirmed.

     Mrs. Howell didn’t look convinced, but only said, “Well, we’ve got to be meeting your grandmother, Dan.” Her eyes fell again on Phil, though they’d never really left. He was so tall that she had to look up at him, just as she’d always had to do with her son. “Would you like to come?”

     “Mum, Phil’s got things to do,” Dan said quickly.

     “I insist.” She smiled at Phil. “Any friend of Dan’s is a friend of ours.”

     Phil looked at Dan, who really had no clue how to stop this from happening. “Erm… I guess if you really—”

     “We do.” Mr. Howell raised his eyebrows at the boys in a sympathetic way as with those last words his wife made for the front door.

     Nothing like a day out with your family, and your… client.

***

     Watching Dan speak with his grandmother, Phil couldn’t help but grin. The smile on Dan’s face was genuine, and being such a titan meant that he had to hunch a little in order to look her in the eye. Phil wasn’t certain why, but it was sweet and funny to see a fashion stylist (looking the part, as well) laughing with his grandma in the middle of a park in NYC. Maybe it was just because it was Dan.

     He shook his head at himself. This wasn’t what was meant to happen. He hadn’t even wanted to work with Dan, but his agent had been sure that having another man collaborating with him on his style would produce better results than if he’d gotten a woman.

     So now here he was. The Howells had been gracious enough to allow Phil to go back to his loft so he could change (and finally get contacts!), and he’d chosen to wear one jumper out of the many he had bought with Dan on this Sunday out. He loved his new clothes, and the feeling he got when he wore (or so much as looked in the direction of) anything from that Friday. He didn’t want to admit that, because it was stupid, and foolish, but he couldn’t seem to help it. Not when Dan was stood over there smiling and being so kind, as he always had been despite everything Phil had done to him.

     “You and Dan,” Mr. Howell said, abruptly shaking Phil from his own head. “You’re just friends?” Phil looked at Dan, then back to Mr. Howell. He nodded. “But do your parents know you’re… that you aren’t straight?”

     Phil’s eyes widened. He hadn’t told anyone that he was gay, except for Hazel. “How—I haven’t—”

     “I raised a bisexual son,” Mr. Howell told Phil, understanding Phil’s disbelief. “I know not everyone is the same, but it’s hard to miss the way you look at one another, and when you think the other isn’t looking.”

     Phil was at a loss as to what he could possibly say in reply to this. Seemed to happen quite a lot here.

     “Don’t look so worried,” Mr. Howell said, chuckling a bit. He sounded like Dan, then, just slightly, and Phil felt almost comforted. “I won’t tell Dan, or anyone else. It’s not my place to.”

     Phil swallowed, hands in his pockets. He thought for a moment, then said, “If you don’t mind my asking… I mean, Dan doesn’t seem to be the biggest fan of England. I know why, partly, but… How did you and his mum actually react…” Phil stopped, feeling awkward. He could never frame his words the way he wanted to.

     “How’d we react when we found out he was bi?” Mr. Howell shrugged. “I’d love to say that we were voted Parents of the Year. But I can’t do that.” He looked at Dan, whose smile was wide as he laughed at something his mother said. “We didn’t believe him,” Mr. Howell said simply, “which sounds ridiculous when said aloud today. We thought he was faking, out of some odd cry for attention.” Phil recalled this from the cab the other night, when Dan had spoken about his life back in the UK. He felt worse than ever—Phil’s own insecurities had made him criticize Dan for being too “gay,” and all because it reminded Phil of all the things he wished he could be. He’d nearly dropped Dan as his stylist because of it.

     “He’d asked for black jeans for Christmas, and a computer so he could get a—a MySpace.” Mr. Howell laughed, nostalgic and a bit sad. “He wanted to pierce his ears, dye his hair black, the tips blond. We’d no idea what the hell was going on with him. Thought it was a phase.”

     “And it wasn’t.”

     “And it wasn’t,” he confirmed. “We found his online profiles where he was identifying himself as bisexual, and we didn’t behave in the most rational of ways. His mum could hardly speak to him, and I… Well, what do you say to that, you know? I didn’t have any idea. It was 2006. Not like it is today.” He sighed, squinting at the sky. “But… then he got a girlfriend, so we thought it was over. Passed and done with. _Then_ he got a boyfriend.”

     Phil tried to picture Dan as he would have looked so many years ago; if he hadn’t been lying about his ease in tanning, Dan would’ve been brown-skinned back then, skinny and tall, hair long and unrelentingly flat-ironed. How brave he was, then and today. Phil felt an ache somewhere he couldn’t place, but he knew that it hurt, and there was a lump in his throat that threatened to choke him.

     “And we knew that it was only just beginning,” Mr. Howell finished. “When my wife’s mum became ill, we knew we had to come together and stop what we’d been doing. It was pointless and would only make Dan hate us more than he surely did. Even then, he still decided to leave for New York after graduating from university, and we couldn’t stop him.”

     Phil spoke, and prayed that his voice wouldn’t be shaky. “Do you think he’s happy?”

     “We sure hope so,” Mr. Howell replied. “That’s all we can do now, I suppose. Can’t change the past, but we can work on ensuring a happier future for us all.”

     “You could be a counselor with that one,” Phil said, glad to have a reason to smile after such a heavy conversation.

     Mr. Howell did a little bow, grinning. “Why, thank you.” He looked back to his wife, son, and mother-in-law. “Right now, though… the only people I’m worried about helping are those in my family.”

***

     “Got to love Chinatown.” Dan grinned at Phil over the straw in his green tea. Phil loved bubble tea as much as the next guy, especially when it was caramel, but he didn’t think he would ever be a fan of the balls of tapioca glued to the bottom of the drink itself.

     “It’s nearly three,” Phil announced, looking back from his phone’s screen to Dan. “We’ve been out for hours.”

     “What, you don’t like my family, Phil?” Dan asked in mock indignation. “You just wait; you haven’t even met my brother yet.”

     “What’s he like?”

     “He’s a little shit of course. Don’t you have siblings?”

     “Yeah, a brother as well. But he’s… pretty nice.” Phil closed his eyes in a cringe and Dan began to laugh.

     “’Pretty nice’?” he echoed. “Yes, Phil, brilliant. Master of words and articulation, everybody.” His eyes fell on his parents, walking ahead of them with his grandma. “I hope your day wasn’t a complete bust, at any rate.”

     “As if. I’ve got bubble tea, a flashy new jumper to show off—” Phil held up his arms. “What more could I need?”

     “Very true. Can I try your tea?” They swapped drinks and each took a sip in unison. Dan nodded sagely, returning Phil’s cup to him. “Yes. Much enjoyable. Very caramel.”

     “A living meme. And yours actually wasn’t too bad…”

     Dan had slowed in his steps, and his eyes began to widen as he listened. “Do you hear that?”

     “I hear music,” Phil said, nose scrunched. “Is that what you mean?”

     “That’s not _any_ music, Phil. Come on.” Dan took off, almost running of all things, and Phil was forced to follow, handing off his bubble tea to Dan’s parents as Dan had done.

     “Dan!” he yelled. “Dan!” Not 15 seconds later, Dan was stood in the park, a strange mix of serenity and awe on his face. He was watching a man with a guitar perform on a make-shift stage. Phil came to a stop beside him, breathing hard. “What’s happened? Who is that?”

     “Greg Laswell.”

     Phil raised his eyebrows, looking back to the stage. Phil had to admit, whatever song this guy was singing wasn’t too bad.

_I want a warm handshake from a slow and simple life._

_I’m not the same man since you saw me last._

_I’m not the same man._

_I’ve got great big plans since you saw me last._

_I’m not the same man…_

     Dan was smiling, his entire expression one of disbelief. “I can’t tell you how many nights I’ve fallen asleep to his music.” He smiled over at Phil, and the look on his face made Phil’s heart twinge painfully inside his chest. “Come on.”

     Dan’s family wandered over a few minutes later to hand back over the bubble teas, but those were long forgotten. Watching Dan’s lips move to the words the artist onstage sang was mesmeric, and he was even sat on the grass, the glow of contented joy in his eyes never fading. Each song was more beautiful than the last, and even though he knew it wasn’t something he could’ve really changed, Phil regretted that he hadn’t heard them before.

     He could hear Dan, “I’ll start the oven, and get the house warm for you to land in when you return. I’ll start the oven, and get the house warm…”

 


	6. Headfirst for Halos

     Dan wasn’t able to stop smiling for the rest of the night. The surprise show by Greg Laswell had sent him into the sky, a lovely clash of Muse and Greg swirling in his brain. He had only ever been to one of his concerts, five years back, and more recently they’d been few and far between if not altogether nonexistent. Walking past the park right at that moment, while Dan wasn’t one to believe in the supersistious, felt something like fate.

     “I’d have to say this was a perfect day,” he said aloud.

     Phil looked over at him in some surprise. “Yeah?”

     “Yeah.”

     Dan couldn’t help it. He honestly didn’t know how else to say that he was happy. When he was 14, he had just been starting to accept that he wasn’t one of the guys that wanted to find a girlfriend and do her. A boyfriend sounded just as good if not better.

     When he was almost 16, he came out. He’d been bullied all his life, and those nights he was kept awake to stare at his ceiling held no certainty of a brighter future. He was finally at a good place in his life, and walking beside Phil, he thought that maybe he could get somewhere even better. He didn’t know how to tell Phil any of this, so he didn’t.

     “That’s good. As glad as I am about that, though, I’m a bit starved,” Phil admitted.

     “Yeah; it’s past nine.” They’d walked all afternoon, seen a concert, walked some more, and then Dan had bid his parents and grandmother goodbye for another few months. “Good luck,” Mr. Howell had said to Phil, as their open-ended farewell. Phil could only try to smile in response. He had no idea what he was going to do, and he was sure he would need more than luck to help him.

     “How about Japanese?” Dan suggested. “Keep up the Asian theme.”

     Phil laughed. “We went to Chinatown and that constitutes the entire day’s theme as Asian?”

     “Just shut up and follow me.”

***

     “You were right,” Phil said, a large smile plastered to his lips. Good company and two glasses of wine did that to him. Dan was defintely glad that he’d updated the website before the drinks had come.

     “No surprise there,” he said. “I usually am.”

     “Modesty sure looks good on you,” Phil noted jokingly, and Dan laughed. The wine had loosened Phil’s tongue quite literally; it slipped out as it sometimes did when he smiled and fortunately for him, Dan wasn’t aware that it normally only happened when Phil was crushing way too hard on whoever made him laugh at that moment. A truly terrible tell-tale, if you knew about it.

     “Most things do look quite good on me, in case you haven’t noticed,” Dan informed Phil. Dan barely knew where the line was drawn between Flirty and Casual Bants when he was sober, and the line was increasingly blurred when he was tipsy.

     “I noticed,” Phil said, his voice a little too steady for Dan’s liking. Or maybe Dan liked it too much. It made him almost believe in things he knew he had no business believing in. He shook it off and said, “Come on. It’s a Sunday night and we’re walking around the city like drunkards. I’ve a job, you know.”

     “Okay, okay, but can we get ice cream before we head home?” Phil enquired. He ignored his use of the word _home_ , and the fact that they didn’t have any sort of _joint home_ to which he could be referring to. Dan didn’t comment, so Phil let it go. Why was he over-thinking a phrase everyone used, in any context?

     Dan’s eyebrows lifted in amusement. “Are you serious?”

     “Deadly,” Phil said, dropping his voice an octave.

     Dan grinned and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, fine, whatever. Let’s just go.” Phil beamed, going after Dan, who was already on his way to the nearest ice cream shop.

     Stood in line beside Dan, Phil said, “Dan, they have green tea ice cream. What’s that even mean? Do people in New York just really love green tea flavored things?”

     “I didn’t think so until precisely this moment,” Dan told him. “But we both know _I’m_ getting butterscotch; let’s be honest.”

     “Obviously I need black forest.”

     “My soul.”

     “Indeed. I wonder if the dye’ll stain my tongue…”

     “Ironic that it’s a representation of my soul, considering I’m terrified of trees,” Dan said reflectively.

     “What?” Phil pulled a face. “How can you be afraid of _trees_?”

     “You’d be surprised,” Dan insisted. “What’re they hiding? Too tall and clustered. Haven’t you seen _The Wizard of Oz_? Nope. Nopity nope.”

     An “Excuse me,” came from behind Dan, and he turned to see a boy of about 20 stood there. “You’re Dan Howell, aren’t you? And Phil Lester?”

     Dan laughed awkwardly. He was recognised in public maybe once every two months; he wasn’t used to it. But he managed to nod. “Yes, I am. Hi. And he’s Phil, yeah.”

     “You’re my inspiration,” the boy said, eyes glued to Dan. “I’m Jacob.”

     Phil didn’t know what to do. Was he supposed to stand there and wait for this little moment to clear up? Despite this boy recognising him, he sure didn’t seem to care half as much about Phil as he did about Dan.

     “Great to meet you, Jacob.” Dan had to appreciate this guy’s courage. If Dan were to ever see a celeb favorite of his, even one so insignificant as Dan himself, he would most likely not be able to confront them let alone get words out.

     Meanwhile, Phil’s stomach was twisting umcomfortably in his midsection. He could see the red tint on Jacob’s cheeks—this kid was crushing on Dan. Who wouldn’t, honestly, but come on. He probably sat on his computer refreshing Dan’s website, praying for a new selfie.

     They were next in line; Phil ordered for himself and Dan as he continued chit-chatting it up with Jacob.

     Jacob smiled at Phil when he and Dan paused in their conversation, but the smile he was sending now to Phil was far more polite than the one he’d been flashing at Dan. Which had definitely been something other than _polite_. “I actually—” Jacob laughed, hand at the back of his neck. His blonde hair was curly on top, like he’d styled it off of Troye’s. “I printed the autographs you uploaded onto your website. They’re on my notebook.”

     “I didn’t think anyone would care enough!” Dan said, laughing. “Thanks; that’s sweet.”

     Jacob looked again to Phil and said, “I can’t wait to see your movie—”

     “Thanks,” Phil said curtly. “Dan, your ice cream is melting.”

     He sent Phil a weird look and accepted the cup from his hands. “Right. Thanks. Uh, Jacob, great to meet you, again.”

     Jacob nodded quickly. “You too. Bye.”

     Dan followed Phil outside, his eyebrows high. “What was that about?”

     “Don’t know what you mean.”

     Dan didn’t walk to catch up with his long strides, and Phil was forced to stop. “Come on, Phil. You totally dismissed that kid just then. He was sweet!”

     Phil had no clue what he could say to fix this. If he was honest, he was resentful. That kid could flirt and blush with Dan, while Phil was stuck asking for ice cream he didn’t even really want just to spend some more time with him.

     “I didn’t want to sit for twenty minutes while a teenager hit on you. I have better things to do.” Now would be a great time to stop talking.

     “He wasn’t a teenager,” Dan said, confused. “I have no idea what you’re on about, but it’s ludicrous.” Phil began to walk away, sticking the ice cream spoon into his mouth to keep himself silent. “If I didn’t know you better I’d say you were, what—jealous?”

     “No.”

     “Then I can’t think why you’d act like such an ass. I can’t talk to a fan? Are you mad that he preferred me to you?” Dan laughed without mirth, nodding as though this were the answer. “It’s even better when we acknowledge that _you don’t even like men_ , Phil! Jesus Christ, who gives a damn whether or not a 20-year-old boy gives you heart-eyes?”

     Phil stopped, facing Dan as he dumped the ice cream into the trash. “You’re an idiot.”

     “Huh?” Phil stormed into the nearest alley, aware that Dan would follow (pelting his own ice cream into the bin with far too much force). “Literally none of this is my fault,” he said. “You’re acting like a child.” Phil turned on him, face set. Dan couldn’t help it—the sharp glint in Phil’s eyes almost made him take a step back. He’d never seen Phil like that, like he was looking through instead of directly at Dan. He could feel crimson creep up his neck and cheeks to replace that of the anger with nerves, and he was grateful for the darkness afforded him by the alleyway.

    Phil came forward, and Dan almost wanted to laugh—man, that owl jumper did not fit in with what was happening here. Phil put a hand to Dan’s neck, and Dan’s throat contracted beneath the touch. If he’d been about to laugh before, there was no way he could now. What _was_ happening here? He wasn’t entirely sure if he should be putting a stop to it. Should he?

     He could feel the distinct beat of his heart throbbing in his chest as Phil met Dan’s gaze. Somehow, even in the night, Phil’s remained bluer than the sky in the day. Maybe a bit darker than usual, right now; Dan was sure his own eyes were huge.

     “Well,” he said, his voice so uncomfortably soft that it nearly broke. Every other sound of the city’s nightlife fell onto deaf ears; except for the other’s breathing, they heard nothing. “Are you going to kiss me or something? Otherwise this has to be the most elaborate murder I’ve—”

     He could say with confidence that the actual last thing he expected was for Phil to kiss him. Well, the Dan of a few days ago would say that with no doubt. But the Dan of tonight was certain that when Phil pushed a frustrated kiss to his mouth, or when his hands itched in the most excruciating way to get beneath Phil’s clothes, it was real, and not the absolute craziest thing in the universe.

     Okay, maybe it was a lot crazy. But it didn’t matter. All he knew was that he had Phil against the brick wall of the alley in seconds flat, that fucking owl jumper clenched in his hands, and he realised just how very long he’d been waiting to do this.

 


	7. Panic Station

     The sun had risen only a few minutes ago. Dan lay awake, his residual shock of the night before still fogging his mind, in a vaguely pleasurable way. He couldn’t believe himself, in bed beside actual Philip Lester. Phil was still swathed in a cocoon of Dan’s blankets. He’d left hardly any for Dan, but that was fine. It was endearing to see a near thirty-year-old man wrapped in his bedspreads as though he were a toddler. Not in a creepy way! Just—different. And nice.

     For years, Dan had thought there was something wrong with him. No serious relationships, nothing resembling anything of the kind, and Dan wasn’t sure when or maybe even if he would find himself in one. He could hardly sleep through the night, his mind was always so go go go. Then Phil kisses him in an alley and Dan’s ready to jump in a cab in a beeline for his apartment as though they were high school or college kids? Not that Dan was an _old man_ but come on. He preferred to have more self-control than that, and watching Phil sleep was not what Dan thought to be an exemplary performance boasting exceptional willpower. Edward Cullen might. Not Dan.

     And they hadn’t even slept together. That was some award-winning self-control in itself. They had made it back to the apartment, but exhaustion had nudged them into slower kisses and Phil looking at Dan like he were the best thing ever, blue eyes real and tender. It was better than fucking in a lot of ways. And so now here they were, in Dan’s bed, having fallen asleep together like an old married couple.

     And he liked it. Just laying there with Phil’s breaths going in and coming out, serene. If Dan weren’t careful, he could get used to waking up to that. He could jump ahead to asking Phil for things he might not want to give, and then where would they be? Where would _Dan_ be?

     When Phil rolled over an hour after sunrise, Dan didn’t think at all when he instinctually leant down to press a kiss to Phil’s mouth. He was already too adjusted, and he pulled back quickly when he realised this. But Phil didn’t seem to notice anything odd; he only smiled, stretching against all the blankets.

     “Hey,” he said, his voice rough from sleep. That was enough to convince Dan that he needed space from Phil’s—everything. Or else he wouldn’t want to leave this room. He got out of the bed to tug on a shirt. Phil sat up, however, way too shirtless and way too Phil. “Dan? Where’re you going?”

     Dan made sure not to stagger out the door. He was beginning to regret not having slept with Phil, could very nearly feel the sensation of his morals starting to splinter. What a baby. “Breakfast,” he managed to say. He was very impressed that his voice didn’t shake. “It’s Monday and I’ve got work. Hungry?”

     “I’m always starving,” Phil replied. “I can help you though.” He made to get up, and Dan turned to go so quickly that he just missed cracking his head against the wall.

     “I’m good. You stay here. Do whatever you want. I can make some stuff. Eggs? American pancakes?” Dan waved his hands, backing out of his bedroom. “I’ll just make everything. Don’t even worry about it.” What a graceful exit, Dan, really.

     His body slowed as he reached the kitchen, his breathing more normal. This is fine. Really. He tried to focus on the cooking aspect of this morning but unsurprisingly Phil came out of the bedroom only a couple minutes later, wearing his clothes from the day before and his hair brushed neatly. Dan was lucky he didn’t need to use a knife for pancakes, because he would have probably slipped and lost a finger or two.

     “Need help?” Phil asked, his elbows leaned atop the bar. “I’m awake this early because of you, you know.”

     “I’m good,” Dan said. He grabbed a mug from the cabinet and began to pour a cup of freshly brewed coffee for Phil. “You can sit if you’d like.” He looked to his bowl of batter, mixing, and then back to Phil. His eyebrows were drawn together like he was contemplating something, hands wrapped securely around the coffee mug. “You okay?”

     “Are you glad we didn’t sleep together last night?”

     Dan was surpised that he was able to keep the bowl from flipping off the counter and the batter from dousing his lap. “What?” Phil knew that Dan had heard him, and understood, so he didn’t say anything else. Dan was lost. “I—Well I’m not _un_ happy. I’m not sure what you—I mean I don’t just sleep with people I’ve only met a few days before and you aren’t even—Are you even—?”

     “I’m gay, Dan.”

     “Right. Of course you are. Not _of course_ ; I just mean—” Dan wanted to die. Why did he have to ramble so much? Phil probably thought he was an idiot. He set the bowl and spoon down, bracing his hands on the counter. “I care about you,” he said in a clear voice. “And I don’t think sex is the only way to show a person—that I care. That’s it.”

     “Well I think that too,” Phil said. “Cuddles are way better anyway.” Dan almost felt like he had given information to a Make Your Soulmate organisation and they had given him Phil. It was completely unnerving, and made Dan’s heart all flippy-floppy. He couldn’t even find a better way to word the things Phil made him feel. “I was only wondering because I—Well… I’ve got go back to London on Saturday.”

     Dan blinked. He realised then that he had never received a for-sure on when Phil was to return to England. And now he had it. He walked around the counter slowly, processing. “You’re leaving.”

     “Yeah. I miss my family, there’s so much business that needs attending to back there as well before the film’s premiere but I—I’ll miss you, Dan…”

     Dan wished he hadn’t woken up this morning. “I’ll miss you too.”

     “So I want you to come with me.”

     Scratch that.

     “ _What_?”

     Phil smiled, a little hopeful and a little scared. “Come back to London with me, Dan.”

     Dan didn’t know what to say. His heart was starting to beat too fast again and all he wanted was to have something to lean against. Unfortunately for him the nearest thing was Phil and that wasn’t an option. “Phil, I—My job is here. My friends…”

     Phil grabbed his hands, pulling him closer. Their bodies weren’t touching all that much, but Dan sure did want them to be. “Come on. Can’t you imagine it?”

     “What’s there to imagine? Phil, you haven’t even told the public you’re gay,” Dan said. He didn’t mean to be so frank, but it was the truth and it was his way. “I can’t be a secret.”

     Phil’s wide eyes searched Dan’s face, and then he nodded. “You’re… You’re right. I wasn’t thinking; I just… I would miss you so much.”

     “Let’s not think about it.” Dan kissed Phil’s cheek softly. He was allowed to do that now. He could hardly believe it. “Breakfast won’t make itself, you know.”

***

     Dan was able to pass an uneventful day at the office in what felt like a couple hours, sketching, finishing up work he had built over the past couple weeks, and thinking about where he and Phil would go to have dinner. He didn’t ask himself about Phil’s impending departure from the city, or whether or not he would be going with him, however, until he got a Snapchat message on his phone around noon from Phil. He was back at his rented flat, posing next to the stovetop where he stood making macaroni and cheese. There was a cheesy smile on his face as gave the camera a thumbs-up.

     Dan smiled at the image, pressing a fist to his mouth to keep himself from making it too obvious. As it were, Louise looked up at him across the way and raised her eyebrows.

     “What’s with you, smiley boy?” she enquired with a grin.

     Normally, Dan told Louise everything in his life. But spilling the beans about him and Phil didn’t seem the best idea. Phil wasn’t out yet, and may very well not want anyone knowing, even Dan’s closest friend.

     “Kanye posted a selfie,” he made up.

     “Danye lives.”

     “Yep. It sure does.”

***

     Dan had only been home for ten minutes when Phil appeared in the apartment. Dan should really get on locking his door.

     But it was only Phil, so he didn’t mind too much. Or at all. He smiled broadly at Phil from the couch where he sat with his laptop, moving it aside to stand and meet him. “Phil,” he said. “I have some pretty great news. I mean, you might’ve changed your mind over the course of the day but I’ve—”

     Phil abruptly held up his right hand, in which was a magazine. His face wasn’t happy, Dan now took note, and his pretty eyes that were always sparkling were unusually sharp.

     “I’m screwed, Dan,” said Phil. His tone matched the strange downturn of his lips. The incongruity of these two in association with Phil was enough to worry Dan further.

     “What? Why?” He took the magazine from Phil and blanched. On the cover stood him and Phil outside of Virgine, the moment he’d held the door open for Phil to enter; he flipped open the magazine and saw them again, at the park as they’d listened to Greg Laswell, or sipping each other’s bubble teas on the pavement. The Japanese restaurant. Dan could only be grateful that the events in that random alleyway hadn’t been caught on camera. Or exposed yet.

     All the captions implied exactly the truth, that he and Phil were more than friends, but they were making a scandal of nothing just because of Phil’s chosen career. Dan felt sick.

     “Phil, this isn’t a big deal,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady for Phil’s sake. But Phil wasn’t looking at him anymore.

     “Like hell it isn’t a big deal!” he said. It was the loudest Dan had heard him speak, since the alley. “This isn’t a joke, Dan! One rumour that I’m not straight will snowball into a disaster—”

     “Or people will just forget about it.”

     “Or you could be realistic,” Phil snapped. Dan’s mouth opened, but no words came out. He scratched his eyebrow, unsure of what he could say to fix this. Phil was wearing his old clothes, he noticed. It was like a punch to the gut.

     “I _am_ being realistic. I’m trying to be. I just don’t know what you want me to do about this,” Dan said honestly.

     “You could erase the past week,” Phil said. “That’d be a start.” He turned on his heel and stormed out of the apartment, leaving Dan to sink down onto the couch, the magazine clenched between his fingers.


	8. All Falls Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dan's outfit dropping by Phil's: https://em.wattpad.com/a9908d33711a38509763164546e195bebc72b784/687474703a2f2f33382e6d656469612e74756d626c722e636f6d2f63366164653762363532303664643737393236353631333434326263343636362f74756d626c725f6e666b646574465a4a50317166376e70656f325f72315f3530302e676966?s=fit&h=360&w=360&q=80  
> Phil's outfit: https://cdn1.thehunt.com/app/public/system/zine_images/4637872/original/484a1e3b3929015dc467b351ea83746c.jpg

     Dan was at a loss. For the rest of that Monday and into Tuesday, he heard not one peep from Phil. Radio silence. He’d gotten used to Phil being there, just existing in the same space, in only a few days, and now that was being taken away because of a dumbass stranger with a camera.

     He had dinner alone Tuesday, as he had the night before, sat at the table and his eyes fixated on the cityscape outside the window. Just yesterday he and Phil had woken up together. They _fit_ together. Was Phil really going to pretend otherwise? Dan’s computer received an email, the bing reaching him from across the room on the sofa. He didn’t get up immediately.

     Maybe he as much as Phil had gotten caught up in the little world they’d made over the course of the week, Dan thought. That magazine was his wake-up call that things couldn’t be so good for too long. Dan breathed out, pushing his container of dumplings away. He wasn’t hungry anyway.

     He retrieved his laptop and saw that it was an email from Francesca. _You boys were great at the photo-shoots_ , it read. _Here are some photos from both, the ones that won’t be used, as a thank you for your work._

All the shots were of Phil on Friday, interspersed with those from Saturday’s shoot. Phil had looked stunning in that blazer. Dan really was pretty good at his job, after everything.

     One photo showed Phil smiling at Dan, taken halfway through the day in the second after Dan tripped over his own foot and nearly collapsed onto the ground. Phil had laughed, his head tilted back, and the moment had been captured. His throat tight, Dan could barely look at the computer screen. This was the farthest thing from fair.

     But he’d dealt with harder things in his 25 years. So he downloaded the pictures of him and Phil, and published a few of them into a post for their followers to see on the website. He saw that Phil had uploaded a post as well, a picture Hazel had snapped in the plane in her trip into New York. She was here, then. In the city. With Phil.

     But Dan shoved this to the back of his mind, and made himself sound cheerful and like his usual self, aware that none of them would be able to tell the difference. No one ever did.

***

     The clock on _Virgine_ ’s wall was ticking on towards three when Dan received a text from Phil, requesting that he stop over on his way home from the office. They hadn’t spoken since Monday, so Dan couldn’t help but be happy that Phil had finally come around. This lasted for only a second, when he then remembered that Hazel was in New York. Dan didn’t want to lose all hope just yet so he went on working until five, preparing himself to see Phil.

     “When’s Phil going back to London?” Louise asked in the elevator down.

     “Saturday, I believe.” Dan knew exactly when he was leaving. Playing it cool was not so easy when all he wanted was to tell Louise everything that had happened the past few days.

     “I haven’t seen much of him,” Louise said, “but your website leads me to believe that everything’s going well between you.”

     Dan swallowed, nodding. “Yes. Much better than at first.”

     “Well, I’m sure things’ll calm down once he’s gone,” Louise surmissed. They stepped out of the elevator and she looked to Dan. “You haven’t stopped by in a while; you should come see Darc’ one of these days. She misses you.”

     “Of course,” Dan said, when he realised that he hadn’t truly visited with Louise or her daughter in so long a time. The mention of Darcy had broken him from his trance, and what he felt now was guilt. “I’ve been a terrible friend, to you and Darcy both.”

     “Dan, it’s alright,” Louise said, even laughing a little as though he were being ridiculous. “You have a job to do. I don’t fault you for that.” She smiled. “I’m proud of you, actually.”

     Dan didn’t deserve her. Louise was one of the only people in his life that he could remember being there for him, since the night they met. He hugged her tightly. “Thank you.”

     Louise, not expecting the hug, patted Dan’s back with a laugh. “Sure. You’re welcome.” He smiled at her and, as he went to walk out of the building, Louise said, “Get some sleep. You’re clearly deprived.”

     He couldn’t say she was wrong. He called a cab for Phil’s and was there within minutes, stood at the door and feeling a bit nervous. He shrugged this away and looked down at himself. He was wearing a black striped jumper and jeans, hair straightened and brushed to perfection. He didn’t have anything to worry about in that department, but he couldn’t help the nerves that threatened to overtake his stomach.

     He knocked, and the door was opened almost right away. Phil stood there looking as perfect as ever, if a bit tired, in a bright blue jumper that featured a pug with the phrase _Pugs Not Drugs_. It was very Phil, and the fact that it had clearly been something he’d bought only to wear in private, never in public, made Dan want to cry. He cared so much about what others thought, and Dan wished he didn’t have to.

     “Hey,” Phil said.

     “Hi.”

     “How are you?” he asked Dan, moving aside and gesturing for him to come in. Dan did so, shrugging.

     “As good as I can be,” he managed. “You?”

     “Alright. So, erm… I have something to talk with you about,” Phil told him.

     Dan took it upon himself to sit on the sofa, and Phil went to the armchair diagonal. “Sure,” Dan said. “What’s… going on?”

     “I’m sure you know by now that Hazel is here. My girlfriend.”

     Dan glanced around. “But not— _here_?”

     “No, she’s gone out for a bit of shopping. Not my thing.” He cracked a tiny smile, and Dan laughed, very slightly. Phil looked so cozy and warm, and all he wanted was to touch him. But he wasn’t sure he could anymore, and he hated it. They’d fallen with ease into the little things, and having it taken was the sharp tear of a fresh bandage from Dan’s skin. He wondered if Phil felt the same. “Listen, I… I apologise for the other day. Those things I said—I was just upset, Dan. And not with you.”

     “I understand,” Dan assured him. “I haven’t been mad at you these past days; I’ve been just.. so annoyed at everyone else. All the people who think your personal life is their own.”

     “It isn’t ideal,” Phil agreed. “But I am sorry I took it out on you. Hazel arrived early yesterday to help me figure out some things, in all of this.”

     “All of…?”

     “Us. Me and you.”

     Dan nodded, slowly. “So there is still a me and you, then?”

     Phil was leant forward, his hands folded together on his knees. “Dan, I… That’s the thing. I need you to help me.”

     “Anything,” Dan said, without hesitation.

     Phil looked almost relieved, like he’d sort of doubted Dan’s willingness to do whatever he asked, and Dan was a little disgusted by himself, to be honest, agreeing to help without even knowing what Phil could need. But it was Phil, and if he needed something, despite common sense, Dan would try his best to do it.

     “We need these rumours to go away, Dan. The only way to do that, in this kind of situation, would be to hold a press conference.”

     “A press conference?” Dan echoed. “Regarding your being gay?”

     “That, and us.”

     “You want to tell everyone that we’re together?” Dan couldn’t believe it. Was this for real? Was Phil actually going to admit it, after all his time of hiding in shame he didn’t deserve and faking a relationship with Hazel? “Of course I’ll help you, if you really believe you’re ready for—”

     Phil’s eyes were closed. “Dan.” He sounded pained, and his face reflected it. “Dan. No. That isn’t… That’s not what I meant.”

     He wanted the rumours to go away. How else would that happen if not a confirmation? But then Dan got it, and he didn’t want it to be true.

     “Lie. You want me to lie for you,” he clarified. “You want me to tell a room of reporters that you and I are just friends, and that you aren’t gay.” Phil didn’t say anything, and Dan knew he was right this time. He didn’t want to be. Jesus, he didn’t want this to be the solution Phil had called him over to hash out. “That’s your big idea?”

     “Dan, I don’t have another option. Producers I’ve been talking with are worried that this will turn into a giant news story; they won’t say it, but I know they think my being gay is undesirable in a lead.”

     Dan ran a hand over his mouth. He couldn’t say anything. He knew he couldn’t just tell Phil to get out of the closet. That was insensitive and unrealistic, and with everything Dan himself had gone through he would never expect anything drastic from someone in this position. (Not this particular situation of being a closeted actor, but the general… hiding part.)

     Phil breathed out, and didn’t speak until some moments had passed. “I understand that this sucks,” he said eventually, brusque. “Okay? I’m not an idiot. I just…”

     “Don’t have another option.” Dan forced himself to look at Phil. “I’ll do it. I’ll do the conference.”

     “What?” Phil said, disbelief coloring his face as Dan got to his feet. He did the same. It was evident that he hadn’t expected such a cool reaction. “Dan, I—”

     “Text me the details,” Dan interrupted. He made for the door, worried that he wouldn’t make it home before he collapsed. “The story you want me to tell and all. I’ll see you there.” He didn’t give Phil the chance to say another word, in the elevator and against its the wall in seconds flat. Only when he got home and stood staring in the bathroom mirror did he allow himself to think: What a disaster this has been.

 


	9. Take a Bow

     Dan woke up to the sun filtering in through his bedroom window. He’d forgotten to close the curtains the night before, as he normally did. The rays didn’t match the heavy feeling squeezing his ribcage into numbness, or the exhaustion he felt after having gotten no sleep.

     He had gone into _Virgine_ the day before to speak with Francesca, to explain why he would need the next morning off. She was confused, having had no idea what was suspected to have been going on between Dan and Phil. He could she felt sorry for him, which made everything worse. She allowed Dan to go home for the rest of that Thursday, and Louise requested (despite Adam’s raised brows) to be let go as well.

     She picked up Darcy and went to Dan’s, and while Darcy played they talked. Actually talked for the first time in a week, where he told her everything that had gone down with Phil. She hugged him, but apart from shiny eyes he remained calm. No tears. She spoke negatively only once, when Dan brought up the press conference. “Why don’t they just ask you to make gorilla noises and scratch your balls while you speak?” she’d demanded, upset on his behalf. But Dan had no energy to be angry, so Louise let it pass.

     He actually slept, Louise and her daughter snuggled up beside him in the bed that had always been far too large for one. The situation was right shitty, but having his own little family in the city that sometimes didn’t feel like home certainly got Dan through that night.

***

     Louise made Dan breakfast, and forced him to eat it when he insisted that he wasn’t hungry. Truthfully, his stomach was caving in on itself, and his heart seemed to be doing the same.

     When she was content with Dan’s intake, Louise asked him what the plan was. Did she want him to wait for him at the office, outside the dingy little room the reporters would be berating them in? He said no. Darcy needed to go home, and so did Louise. She would be late to work as it already was. She agreed, with reluctance, and wished him well. Darcy bade Dan to lean down in order for her to deliver a kiss to his cheek, for which he was very grateful. Her little hands patted his face in their loving way, and then she and her mother left.

     Dan dressed in a suit, the only suit he’d ever owned. He had brought it with him from England, and it was the one he’d worn to his grandfather’s funeral. While he was alive, he and his grandpa had been close, and wearing it made Dan feel like that were still true, in an odd way. It gave him courage, like how he’d had to harness his courage the morning his family had shuffled from the house for the funeral. He needed courage right now to face a spattering of unkind cameras and spit out the words Phil needed him to say.

     When he arrived, there were already reporters swarmed outside the building. He snuck past them with the help of _Virgine_ ’s security team to make his way to the room where the press conference would be held. Upon entering he saw that Phil was there, pacing the floor, while Hazel sat at the head table muttering things Dan couldn’t quite make out. By the state of Phil’s nervous twitches, he could at least see that she wasn’t helping. Dan wasn’t sure why this gave him some consolation.

     Phil’s blue eyes caught onto Dan, and he smiled. Or he very nearly smiled, until his brain reminded him of the reason why they were all here today.

     “You came,” he said.

     “’Course I did,” Dan replied. “What kind of friend would I be if I’d let you drown?”

     Hazel stood and extended a hand to Dan as he approached. “Hazel Hayes. Phil’s manager and girlfriend. Pleasure.”

     “Well, one of those is true,” Dan said. He didn’t regret it, even when Phil and Hazel both looked taken aback. Hazel played it off, used to being on the spot.

     “Thank you for agreeing to this, Dan,” she said amicably. She was Irish. As Dan had taken a dislike to Devin, neither was Hazel falling into Dan’s favor. “It’s appreciated.”

     “It’s for Phil,” Dan said simply. He didn’t look at Phil, not at all. The reporters were let inside, and Dan steeled himself. He locked the cage around his heart and willed the key out of his mind. He had a show to put on. Phil wasn’t the only actor in the room today.

     Twenty minutes in, things were going smoothly. The questions were simple and didn’t press to far deep into the side of the personal.

     “Phil, I know you’ve only been in New York for a week, but how does it compare to London?” one reporter asked.

     “It’s brilliant. I would love to come back.” Phil smiled. If Dan didn’t know any better, he would think nothing were wrong. “But London is where my family is.”

     “Mr. Lester,” a young woman called out. She was farther toward the back, a hand raised in question. “There were pictures of you and a man featured in a magazine not four days ago. They’ve stirred up some rumours. Would you mind commenting on that?”

     And there it was. Dan forced his eyes to remain on the crowd before him, still. Phil didn’t react, only gave them a small smile. “We all know how the press likes to take a photo and make it into something it isn’t in order to fabricate a good story. Those images were completely normal…” _Being normal is boring._ “…exaggerated into just that. Stories made to make us seem _ab_ normal.” _Normalness leads to sadness._

“The man in those pictures is actually a good friend of mine, my stylist Dan Howell.” Phil graced Dan with a winning smile, and Dan realised how wrong he had been. He’d thought Phil was incapable of spewing intruths. “Dan, could you come up?” Looks like Phil could lie, after all.

     Dan got to his feet, prepared for this, but that didn’t mean it didn’t feel like a knife twisted into his gut to step up and sit at Phil’s side to coat on another layer of their falsified story.

     Dan knew that the best way to do so was to begin with the truth and wrap the lie within it. So he began with that when the same woman asked what his relationship was with Phil. He noticed some of the reporters turn on their recorders, sensing the action about to unfold. “I am bisexual,” he said. There was some shifting in the seats, shared looks.  “That doesn’t mean or even imply that Phil is in any way the same. I told him the day we met where I stood and he couldn’t have been more accepting.” _You’re too gay, Dan._

     “He doesn’t care. He’s the kind of person who treats everyone with respect, no matter who they are or where they’ve come from. No matter race, gender, sexuality. Anything so trivial.” Dan could feel that Phil’s fake smile was faltering, the weight of the truth they both knew yanking it down. “He is one of the most amazing people I’ve ever met. I’m proud to call him my friend.” Dan looked at every face in the crowd, then last of all to Phil. “He’s like my brother.”

     “Brothers,” Hazel repeated, a flashy grin exposing whitened teeth. “Alright, well, that’s all we’ve got time for. Phil’s got a flight to catch.” Dan’s head swiveled to see Phil, the wards he’d put up for this conference shuddering. Phil just on Monday had said that he was leaving tomorrow, Saturday. Just another thing Dan hadn’t been informed of. Would he have gotten on that flight without a breath in Dan’s direction? “Thank you, everyone, for coming.”

     Dan left. He walked out and made it halfway home on foot before realising that he had to talk to Phil. Letting him run back to London without being told of the pain he’d caused Dan? As if he could be let off that easy. Louise would have a fit. So Dan hailed a cab for Phil’s, and made it all the way to his loft door without breathing. Stood outside it, panting, Dan didn’t know what to do. It was worse when Phil opened the door as though he could feel Dan waiting outside it. He didn’t even know what exactly he was waiting for. Seeing Phil now, right in front of him, Dan knew he couldn’t tell him off. Not even after everything. Because it was Phil, and he was Dan.

     Phil watched Dan’s movements. Brhind him were his suitcases piled as though he’d been about to head for the airport. Maybe he had, and that’s why he’d opened the door at the perfect moment.

     “I… I wasn’t sure you’d come,” he said. “I waited… I hoped you would. I hoped you wouldn’t.”

     “I almost didn’t,” Dan told him. “I’m so mad. I’m so unbelievably…” He searched Phil’s face. There was remorse traced on it, but there was also the resolution that came with a decision one knew to be the right one… or the one they needed to have be the right one. “This is the choice you need to make, on this day, in this moment, in this universe.”

     “My mother always says, to get something we have to sacrifice something else,” Phil said. His tone pleaded with Dan to understand. “Same goes for dreams.”

     “I would know, wouldn’t I?” Dan didn’t have anything left to say, so he turned to go. Phil took his arm, though, and was suddenly hugging him into stillness.

     “I need this, Dan,” he said. “You can hate me. It’s okay.”

     “I couldn’t hate you. I want to hate you for it. But I can’t, can I? I want you to be _happy_.” He pulled back to look into Phil’s eyes. “Is this what’ll do it?”

     “I daresay it is.”

     “Then get on that plane, and go.”

     “Dan, I…”

     “Maybe it’s not our time,” Dan said. He lifted his shoulders, gave Phil’s hands a squeeze, and let go with every awareness that he may never touch them again. He thought back to that past Monday morning, when he’d kissed Phil in bed like he had every right to.

     He walked out to the elevator, and Phil let him. He went to the lobby and pushed through the front revolving doors, the sunshine from the afternoon bright against his eyes, the warmth welcome against his skin. He got into a cab, and went home.


End file.
